


All the Lies that Sweet Birds Sang

by xiao



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 12:52:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11081982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiao/pseuds/xiao
Summary: Pirate Radio and the Makings of A Band is a horrible title for a documentary, don't you think?





	All the Lies that Sweet Birds Sang

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minshuas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minshuas/gifts).



> dear recipient, i hope you enjoy this! i had a lot of options with your requests and it was a gift and a curse.

◄◄

Wonwoo didn’t leave Changwon to do pirate radio from his studio space in Mapo.

He moved to Seoul to do music. The radio show was kind of an accident.

He found the old equipment while walking through Hwanghak-dong’s flea market. The man running the little second-hand shop let him leave with a record player and an armful of vinyls for reminding him of his grandson, free of charge under the condition that Wonwoo stop by every now and then for a chat. Wonwoo visited when he felt particularly homesick, and each time he left with more electronics.

“People still own these?” Minghao blew dust away from a Cho Yong Pil album, watching Wonwoo fiddle with the controls on the mixer.

Mingyu joined them for a final run through of the song they were set to perform at a club in Hongdae at ten. Wonwoo kept his nicer microphones hidden where Mingyu couldn’t possibly find and destroy them trying to build an alien honing device. The walls were decorated with menus from places that delivered at two in the morning. Wonwoo has a song or two written specifically with those restaurants in mind.

“Half of this shit is old radio equipment,” said Mingyu after fumbling over the English lines he insisted make up the intro. “What are you going to do with it?”

Wonwoo shrugged. “See if any of it works. Play around with it. Host my own radio show. I don’t know.”

“You, hosting radio?” Minghao snorted, voice reverberating through the mic and into Wonwoo’s headphones. Mingyu nodded, grinning at Minghao through the glass. His friends were idiots, but somehow Wonwoo still took them seriously.

“Why couldn’t I host a radio show?” he asked casually.

“You aren’t that likeable, hyung.” Ouch. Mingyu had the decency not to confirm or deny Minghao’s statement, but saying nothing at all was exactly like saying everything.

“Plenty of people like me.” Mingyu’s eyebrows arched as if to say, ‘like who?’ Wonwoo frowned. People _did_ like him.

Minghao backtracked at the expression on his face. “I mean, you are likeable, but it’s subtle.”

“He’s trying to find a way to say you’re a dick without it sounding like he thinks you’re a dick.” Mingyu explained. Wonwoo joked about Minghao just being too likeable, and they let the conversation die with the sound of Mingyu’s voice filling up the studio as Wonwoo played the song again from the beginning.

The radio show happened completely by accident, really.

A few days after recording with the others, Wonwoo put the equipment together and fooled around with the transmitter, checking the antenna he attached to the roof of the building, alongside the already existing cables. No one would notice it among the others.

He was just going to play pretend, like a kid would with his new toys. After all, it was highly unlikely anyone would be able to hear him.

It took two weeks to realize he had been very wrong.

►►

Wonwoo stares at the album, unseeing. He should be asleep right now, in his sweltering apartment complex on the other end of the Han. Mingyu’s leg is shaking incessantly under the table, setting fire to the delicate skin of Wonwoo’s calf because Seungcheol’s restaurant is about the same size as a matchbox. Every inhale he takes is a direct steal from Mingyu’s exhales. The menu consists of dishes frequent customers describe as ‘delicious, but also strange.’ They each order something different.

“Congrats,” Wonwoo says after he realizes his pause extended for four and a half beats too long. “You made it, man.”

Mingyu unfurls, face blossoming into unrestrained glee. Wonwoo feels guilty for not being happy, right up until his stomach growls morosely beneath the cage of his arms. It’s probably bad manners to ask Mingyu to pay. Maybe even worse manners since he’s the older one. He looks at the album again, squints until the colors start to bleed, and sighs. Any minute Seungcheol will bring out some odd creation of his, doused in sesame oil, showering Mingyu with affection more intense than a mother to her son. Then Wonwoo will really feel like a dick, and he’ll have to apologize for not being more enthusiastic. He never apologizes.

“I know this is not how we pictured things,” Mingyu starts, interrupted by Seungcheol who, as expected, places something fried and sweet on their table. Wonwoo gags at the aesthetics, but they all know he’ll eat it. 

Wonwoo grunts, spins his chopsticks with his fingers like a drummer. “You signed with a label, dyed your hair, changed your stage name. This is exactly how I pictured things.” Mingyu’s face does a pretty good impression of a crumpled paper ball, bouncing off the rim of the wastebasket, collecting cobwebs in the corner where it rolls away unseen. Mingyu is sort of his best friend, but the space that requires is sometimes eclipsed by the overwhelming shadow of Wonwoo’s demons.

Like now, he understands that he’s not jealous of Mingyu. Truthfully, he knows that between the two of them (and Minghao when he bothers to show himself), his lyricism and composition skills are better. He also understands business, marketability, money. Seoul is an idol metropolis, where people are plastic and disposable. Wonwoo has the face for it, but none of the will.

Mingyu found the perfect medium between selling out completely and maintaining his free will. It’s something Wonwoo struggles with daily: how to sell music without selling your soul. If you want money, you have to go mainstream.

“I’m one of the people we used to talk shit about.”

“Yeah, well.” Wonwoo shrugs. “You won’t be if you’re still yourself when this album sells.” Mingyu smiles, because he understands that it’s Wonwoo’s way of saying that this doesn’t change anything between them. Seungcheol comes around with a camera this time, ignoring the bell above the door when a bunch of high school girls wander in. Wonwoo scowls when Mingyu pushes his album in the shot, but he sees the huge block letters on the back that say KIMING and can’t stop himself from smiling.

“Jihoon produced this?” Wonwoo asks later, on their way to the subway station. “Wait, stupid question, of course he did. He’s probably ordering you guys more couple hoodies right now as we speak.”

Mingyu snorts, arm slung around Wonwoo’s shoulders the way Wonwoo hates the most. Makes him feel tiny. “Hakyeon-hyung laughed for a full ten minutes when I showed him the album cover. Which by the way was Jihoon’s idea.”

“The company must pay him a lot.”

“Nah, it’s a small company. It’s all about taking indie mainstream.” He draws an arch with his hands, nearly hitting Wonwoo in the face. “They scout at concerts, street performances, word-of-mouth, stuff like that.”

“Makes me wonder how they got stuck with you and Jihoon.” Mingyu grins, all teeth, and shoves Wonwoo so hard he ends up tripping off the sidewalk.

“Thanks man. I was really worried about this whole thing but, I don’t know. I feel like everything will work out.”

Wonwoo takes in his surroundings more carefully, watching the blank faces of nondescript citizens walking over the same footsteps from yesterday, wondering if Seoul would ever stop to listen to his music.

“Maybe it will.”

**Author's Note:**

> sorry i had to break it down into parts but i had 3 different fics for this one exchange and....lets just say...chaos.


End file.
